Metamorphosis
by Isee
Summary: How Roy and Riza transformed their romantic relationship into a professional one. Incomplete sequel to Pact, to prove that there was at one point in time an intended sequel to Pact. Sexual tension and angst.


This is a sequel to Pact, because I just feel compelled to write angsty Roy/Riza. If you didn't read Pact, Roy and Riza ended their romantic relationship and now begin their professional one.

**Metamorphosis**

**Chapter 1: The day he told her he wanted to become Fuhrer**

Roy walked into Riza's apartment.

"Hey," Riza greeted him with a smile, which faltered somewhat at the sight of his military uniform, "Dinner will be ready in a few minutes." She knelt to check the oven.

Roy sat down carefully at the table.

"Aren't you going to take off your coat?"

Roy jumped up and moved to the closet by the door. He put his overcoat inside, then pivoted, turning to stare at Riza. He approached her hesitantly.

"Taste this," Riza held a spoon up to his mouth. The linguini sauce was rich and creamy. Riza withdrew the spoon and started stirring chopped basil into the mix.

Roy rested his chin on her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her hair. He cradled her form within his own. Then he sighed.

"I have to talk to you," he said.

Riza looked back at him sharply, then turned off the stove. She maneuvered her way around him and sat down at the kitchen table, back rigid. She looked back at him.

"Well?"

Roy slid into his seat. This time he was slumped over the table, examining his hands.

"I talked to your grandfather today—"

"General Grumman," Riza stated.

"Yes, General Grumman."

Roy paused, and looked up at Riza. Her face was expressionless. Roy looked back down at his hands.

"Well, you know that – that this country," he gave a laugh, "is in pretty bad shape. Right?" He looked up at her. He looked back down. "Yeah," he sighed, "You know that.

"Anyway, he said . . . he thinks, that at my age, I mean – what with the rank I've already achieved – he thinks that I . . . could, someday, become Fuhrer."

There was silence. Roy looked up at Riza's blank face, trying to gauge her reaction.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Riza was on her feet and halfway across the room before Roy reacted.

"Riza!" he called, going after her. She turned.

"You want to become _Fuhrer?_ Do you have any idea what you're getting into? Roy, it will take years – _decades_ – and until then . . ." Riza turned back around, but didn't take any more steps. She stood, silently. "What makes you think, that you can change this country anyway? Maybe it'll be you who's changed by the time you reach the top."

Roy took a step towards her.

"So you're not quitting the military, I gather," Riza interjected. Roy stopped.

"No."

"You're a fool," she said. Then started walking again.

"Riza!" Roy grabbed for her shoulders.

"You want to leave me!" she said, turning furiously, pushing his hands away.

"Don't be silly! I don't want that!" He grabbed for her arms again, and held on tightly, despite her struggling. Eventually she gave up. He drew her against his chest, enfolded her within his embrace. "I want you to come with me."

"Where?" she asked in a whisper. Roy kissed her eyes

"To the top," he said, kissing her cheek, then her neck.

"I've already quit the military," she shivered. Roy kissed her on the lips.

In her bed, there were tears in her eyes as she sat up to kiss him, cupping his chin in the palm of her hand. They took kisses like breaths of air, breaking away only to gasp real oxygen, cruel in its necessity.

Afterwards he paused for a moment, quiescent. Then he pulled out of her, but did not move off of her. He brought his face near hers, but did not look at her.

"Get out of here," Riza said without opening her eyes.

So Roy got out of the bed. He put his uniform back on and started to gather the little things he had left: his toothbrush in the bathroom, his extra socks in her drawers. She heard him open the closet door for his coat, and then heard him open the front door. There was a pause, and the world seemed poised to do anything; anything could happen. Then the door closed.

Riza opened her eyes and sat up.

**Interstitial**

Roy opened the door and looked out into the hallway. He started to look back, but didn't. He walked out the door and closed it.

Outside in the hallway, he found that he had no idea what to do. He started walking.

He walked down the streets of Eastern, a bundle of clothes and personal effects tucked under his left arm, his overcoat draped over his right.

Eventually, whether because it is the design of the city, or because it was on his way to his dorms, or maybe he knew subconsciously where he was going, he ended up in front of the steps leading to the military headquarters of Eastern.

He paused for a moment, then started to climb the steps.

**Chapter 2: Reassignment**

"Welcome back, 2nd Lieutenant."

Just like that. It was so easy. The military was short staffed. They would accept anyone. Especially an officer who had served in the Ishvaran War.

"We'll just get these papers processed at the personnel department."

Last night Riza had tossed and turned. Roy didn't know what he was getting into. He had been a State Alchemist for a year before going to Ishvar. He had done research in laboratories. Then he was sent to the front lines. He had done well there (at least he had survived) but he knew nothing of bureaucracy.

Roy didn't know the petty ways of officers jockeying for positions. He didn't know the grudges that higher officers could hold. Growing up in a military household, she had known these things instinctively from childhood. There was always gossip about who got transferred where, how, and why.

And it was dangerous. He could very well be sent to the front lines again. Or he could be killed in the line of duty. The military was not popular.

That was not her concern anymore, she told herself.

Yet in the morning she had taken out her uniform and laid it out on her bed. She had stared at the inanimate thing, asking it to tell her what to do.

Now she strode down the hall after a warrant officer in the personnel department.

"Sir, before this becomes official, I'd like to make a request."

The warrant officer turned to look at her, eyebrows raised, but he didn't object.

"What did you have in mind?"

"I'd like to be assigned under a Lieutenant Colonel Mustang."

"The Flame Alchemist?"

"Yes, that's him."

"Oh, well no problem." The warrant officer seemed relieved that she hadn't asked anything more outrageous.

In an office, officers and enlisted moved about. Riza threaded her way through the busy crowd. She came to a stop in front of a desk at the head of the room.

"Sir!" she saluted.

Roy stopped skimming the file he was holding and looked up. He stared, then put the file down. He shifted his weight, then stood still.

"At ease . . . 2nd Lieutenant Hawkeye."

"Sir," Riza held out her papers, "I've been reassigned to be under your command."

Roy took the paper without looking at it, still staring at her.

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End file.
